my boy builds coffins
by finaljoy
Summary: Pepper and Tony moved to the desert after the war. They left the opulence of their former lives, bought with the money from selling war machines and bright, blood soaked ideas to the military. Now, Tony isn't the rich, privileged inventor, he is the poor, talented coffin maker living in the slums of a desert city. Shame the government doesn't want to see it that way. (fantasy au)


_AN I love love love this world. I can't wait to see how it develops as the series continues! Also, I really enjoyed writing from Pepper's POV. I like her character, and I'm really glad I had an idea for a story from her POV (it gets a little difficult when you have Clint, Natasha, and Bucky hardwired into your system)._

_Inspired by the Florence + the Machine song "My Boy Builds Coffins"._

_Written for the Beta Branch New Years Resolution Challenge (thanks to those lovelies for editing for me!)_

* * *

Pepper walked through the dusty streets of the slums, woven basket held carelessly at her side. Children ran past her with loads of their own, some of them using empty baskets or scarfs as protection from the bright desert sun. She waved at a couple of the vendors that had their stalls set up, even though market wasn't for another few days. They sold basic necessities, like baskets, sturdy, unimpressive clothing, or simple clay pots. On market day, though, the streets would be lined with stalls of all sorts, the sellers showing off dyed fabrics, delicious foods, carefully crafted tools, and even animals in the larger squares.

Pepper moved past the stalls, wanting to return home before the afternoon heat hit. She hurried through the alleys of the poorer districts and into the richer areas, where the buildings were constructed of clay bricks and could support luxuries like windows and multiple levels. The people there looked better taken care of, clothes with less dirt and wear, the children's faces less hollowed out.

When she and Tony had decided to settle on the oasis city of Mehrnaz, Pepper had thought the oasis would actually be _in_ the city, the river Mesika running through it, as was common in the cities in the northeast. Instead, she had been dismayed to find the Mesika set off to the side. Still, she couldn't complain entirely, as fountains flowed even in the poor districts, some for drinking, others for bathing. The cool, moist air from the river also washed over the city, cutting the harsh, dry winds from the desert. Plus, the river banks were lower by Mehrnaz, the only break in the precipitous drops to the water for miles. It was the ideal place, really, healthy and whole despite the effects of war.

Eventually, Pepper left the last few huts and stands behind, and found herself walking alone to the river's edge. She smiled into the welcome breeze from the water, slowing to enjoy the break from the _dry._ That was one thing she could never grow accustomed to, despite several years of wide travel with Tony. She had been raised in the dew drop of the world, Timan, and was accustomed to constantly being surrounded by green and mist. She had no idea how Tony _stood_ it, cheerfully working away every day despite the heat.

Pepper stopped beneath a river tea tree, and leaned against the trunk. Its crisp, spicy smell hung heavy in the air, and she drank in the shade for a few moments before heading closer to the water. She bargained several jars of preserved dates for a basket of river clay with one of their neighbors, and had decided to cash in. Pepper had initially been reluctant to walk all the way down to the river bank and then back with a basket full of clay, but Tony had just received word that another child had died of illness, and she knew he would brood as he worked. Getting out from under foot was really the best option.

She crouched down, running her hands over the ground. The actual clay, she had been told, would be beneath a thin layer of silt and sand, so she started scooping away the earth until she reached it. The clay was an ominous dark grey, but as far as she could tell, that was the only kind there, so she began loosening it from the ground.

Pepper supposed that she had gone to the river to escape the sad news, just as Tony did by throwing himself into his work. Even though he had finished the actual coffin the day before, the finishing touches, the staining, the painting, the carving of any final images into the wood would consume him. Then it would be the art that caught his attention, not the fact that he was beautifying the child's last resting place.

They had known the little boy for a while, a small child whose name had been Razo. The poor thing's parents had been desert traders. They had been lost when guerrilla rebels had attacked their caravan. Razo, like all of the other survivors, had been found unconscious in the sand dunes skirting Mehrnaz. They had been taken in by people throughout the city, and Razo happened to find a home in the edge of the slums near Pepper and Tony. The fact that the rebels had used new weapons stolen from the Empire during the war ensured that Tony took a pointed interest.

And now the boy was gone, death finally having caught up after trailing him for so long. When the doctors had told Tony that the illness had turned lethal, he had pulled out the wooden boards without a word, and started measuring. Pepper hadn't questioned the decision to use expensive wood, instead of the reeds most people in the slums got. Tony had ached with the need to help, and since he was unable to pay for the best doctors in the city to come, he offered what he could for Razo's journey to the afterlife.

Pepper paused in digging up the clay, and wiped her wrist over her forehead. She glanced up at the river, bracing her hand against the sun when she saw something. Trees were floating down the Mesika, their dull bark blocking the sun from hitting the water's surface. They had been cut down in the forest to the north, and then sent down the river to Mehrnaz. Soon they would be hauled in and portioned out by the city's wood workers. If she hurried back, Tony might even be able to get his order in before only the cheapest wood was left.

Pepper scooped up a little more clay, then hoisted the basket onto her hip. She grimaced at the weight, then began trekking back into the city.

As she passed into the thinner sections of the slums, some of the children recognized her and ran over.

"Pepper, Pepper!" they called, skittering around her feet.

"Hello, hello, hello," she said, laughing and responding to all of them. "What're you all up to? Shouldn't you be helping your mother?" she asked, looking at the oldest of the children. She was about twelve, and was usually helping her mother with the chores this time of day.

"Maybe," the girl said, face completely serious. Pepper smiled, but kept walking.

"There's a lady looking for you!" a little boy said.

"Oh? Was Tony not at home?"

"No, he's there! She were lookin' for you or him," the eldest girl explained. "Looked like a foreign lady, too."

Pepper stopped, frowning at the children.

"Foreign?"

"Mm-hm, pale like you an' Tony! Wore travelin' clothes."

Pepper pursed her lips, and adjusted her hold on her basket. She resisted reminding the boy that she and Tony weren't _actually_ foreigners to Mehrnaz, not since it had been absorbed into the Empire, instead focusing on their mysterious visitor. She and Tony had only been in Mehrnaz for a year, and they had only come to the decision to stay while on the road, so no one from before could have come calling. The woman might have come for a coffin, it would hardly be the first time Tony had been commissioned by someone outside of the desert, but if she was still wearing traveling clothes…

"And she came for a coffin?"

"Nope! Asked for an inventor, named 'Stark'. I set 'er straight, told her the only Stark around here was our very own coffin maker. Sent her that way, too—"

Pepper started running before the good-byes had even left her mouth. The basket of clay weighed her down, but she gripped tightly to it, terrified that losing that mundane bit of everyday life might cast her into a void. The clay huts thinned out, replaced by slight structures made of sticks, reeds, and cloth, more to give the illusion of permanence than anything.

The visitor was there, the only person walking the tired path to the edge of the slums. She had a large red cloak, which was being shifted about in the breeze. It hid the rest of her clothes, as well as any more clues about who she was. Pepper frowned, and slowed to a walk.

"Hello?" she called, making the woman turn to look at her. She had red hair, brighter than Pepper's, and a slight burn on her face from being out in the sun.

"Are you Pepper?" the woman asked. Her accent was indeterminable, other than being eastern. The wind pushed aside her cloak again, revealing pale traveling clothes, as the children had promised. The woman was looking only at her face, but she gave the impression of examining Pepper's person just as closely. Pepper shifted the basket, aware of the soft marks of wood stain and the darker marks of wet clay on her clothes.

"Yes. And you are...?"

"Looking for Tony Stark."

"How do you know him?"

"We go back. I'd call us friends, but who knows with him." She gave a friendly enough smile, and didn't have the aloof air of government officials, but Pepper still doubted she was just a traveler. Tony hadn't been 'the inventor' since the war.

"Oh-_kay_," Pepper said, then hesitantly resumed walking. "He's probably working right now."

"That's fine. I only need a moment."

"You traveled across the desert for a _moment_?" Pepper asked, raising an eyebrow. The woman shrugged, but didn't say anything.

They were silent as they continued to the house. Pepper did her best not to side eye the woman, but it was like her gaze was magnetized. Despite the typical, travel worn look about her, it was exceptionally obvious that this woman _did not fit._ But here she was.

"Tony?" Pepper called once they were near the house. There was no response. She slipped into their single room hut to get the clay out of the sun, then came back out.

"Hold on, he's probably over in his shop. I'll go get him," Pepper said, leaving the woman by the wall that separated their home from the path. She gestured for the woman to step inside and out of the sun, then walked to the small structure a few paces away that served as Tony's shop.

"Tony," she repeated, walking through the door, "someone's here for you."

"Mm? Who?"

"I don't know, it's a woman. But she addressed you as 'the inventor', so it's clearly someone from the capital."

Tony groaned, and set down the delicate hammer on the small coffin.

"_Great._ Just a woman, though? Where's the rest of her party?" he asked, wiping his hands off on a cloth.

"I don't think she has one. She seemed to come alone."

"Across the desert?"

"I guess so. I'm not sure what to make of her. She's not like the other officials I know, and she had no problem walking through the slums by herself, asking for you."

"Yeah?" Tony asked, and walked with her out of the workshop. Pepper followed after, surprised to find the woman still standing on the path side of the wall.

"Oh, I didn't—you could have stepped inside," Pepper said, frowning at the woman.

"I wanted to wait until after Tony saw me," she said, giving another knowing smile. Pepper turned to Tony for answers, but kept silent when she saw his face.

"Natasha," Tony said, the word coming out like a smear of mud. "You look better in palace issue black. Or did you follow my example and leave?"

"Black's not exactly the thing you'd want to wear out here," Natasha said, cracking into a mild smile. Pepper bit her cheek, and glanced between the two.

So this woman worked for the government. Moreover, she had been given a black uniform, which was reserved for special agents obedient to only the most powerful in the empire. They were given the quiet jobs, the ones that had to be done immediately and without fuss. She knew that they served as ambassadors, body guards, and negotiators, but the whispers heard most often were about the assassinations and acts of sabotage.

These agents weren't assigned a specific rank within the military, neither were they granted land or extra wealth, like scholars, linguists, or top military officials. But they had power. When they issued orders, it was generally understood that everyone obeyed. Pepper had seen a few back in Timan, and they had been mild, quiet spoken people that did not attract much attention.

_So no one would be able to pick them out of a crowd,_ Pepper thought, imagining this woman producing a knife or dropping a vial of poison into their drinks. She took a deep breath. This woman was not here to kill them. A professional would not walk around the slums, openly asking for the man she was going to kill.

"Why're you here, Natasha? I told Fury that I was done. _Done._ I thought that was clear when I—"

"You ran away, leaving your mansion empty and all of your land to all of your friends, yes, the message was quite clear."

"Then _why_ are you here? Did you drag Banner in, too? Is he there to train the newest batch of boys, to instruct them how to kill people before they're even old enough to think it's wrong? Is everyone being brought back, after being _promised_ they were out?"

"No," Natasha said, placid in the face of Tony's storm.

"No. Just me."

"Yes. The work you did for the Empire is remarkable. In just five years alone, you completely revolutionized the course of this country. Think of the _good_ you could do in the following five, with no war, greater resources, and more freedom!"

"So that's what this is about," Tony laughed, voice hard. "You just want me for my pretty, pretty brain."

"It has produced marvels before. Those _boys_ you scoffed about, they are building bridges and roads and canals. They are improving the country, including the lands acquired in the war! And with your designs, your engineering, you could make everything _vastly_ better. Don't you want to be a part of that? Don't you want to _do_ something, other than sulk in some slum?"

Tony glared at Natasha, then whirled around. He stalked back to the workshop, snarling out, "_Come with me._" Pepper cast a look over her shoulder at Natasha as she followed Tony. The other woman's eyes were fixed on his back, gauging what was coming next.

She reluctantly followed, stepping around the wall and pursuing him to the workshop. Tony waited for her in the sparse shade, arms folded as he simmered.

"Do you even get why I'm _here_?" Tony demanded, throwing his hands out. "This isn't some weird _trend_, where I try being poor for a little while. Pepper and I came here to _escape _Fury and all of his plans. These people, they're _suffering,_ despite the amazing buildings you have your armies running around making. There are mothers without sons, fathers without daughters, entire _villages_ wiped out because of stupid territorial wars, since the desert chieftains and all of their lieutenants were killed in the war. This boy_ died_," he hissed, barely keeping his voice level, but still slamming his palm down on the lid of the coffin. Pepper jumped, and bit her cheek. This wasn't good.

"Did you know that, Natasha? His parents were killed because a group of rebels got ahold of my weapons and massacred the caravan for trading with the Empire, just a few months ago. He's dead because he didn't have parents or a home to keep him safe. And it didn't matter how many canals you made, how many buildings you remade to hide up the ugliness of murdering people. He died, because you couldn't leave alone, because _I _couldn't leave alone. So no, I'm not _sulking in the slums,_ I'm trying to see what I really did, and what good I can make of it!"

Tony was panting now, the words spinning into the air like knives. Pepper flinched as they passed, and glanced at Natasha, wondering if underneath the steady expression, she felt their sting.

"_Yes_, there are still deaths," she said, voice flat. "_Yes_, there will be problems as people try to deal with the way things have changed. They've lost people and land and lifestyles, and they can never get them back. But you can't—does making this boy a coffin _really_ make things better for him, for anyone in Mehrnaz?"

"It's ensuring him a better shot at the afterlife," Tony said, voice petulant and yet sad.

It was believed in the southwestern parts of the Empire that a person's soul used their final resting place to arrive to different places in the afterlife. Those that were killed in battle, or died in the wild, were forced to walk through the strange outlying villages of the spirit realm. Those with wicker casings, as were common for poorer folk, could use the baskets as shelter, earning them the chance to travel through the elements to a more comfortable home. But those with wooden coffins, it was believed, could ride the Great River to the palace, where the gods lived in splendor. By giving Razo a coffin, Tony had bought the child a chance to live with the gods.

Natasha's lips pressed into a tighter line, like she didn't agree with Tony's mentality. Or perhaps she was merely scoffing at the tradition, looking down on the superstitions of the southwestern people as so many of the northerners did.

"Tony," she repeated, voice not giving away any of her disagreement, "you can't make up for being the Merchant of Death by giving away a better version of it."

He didn't respond, glaring at the coffins he had already made, neat and almost benign as they waited for use. Natasha fell back a step, leaving the shade of the workshop.

"I'm not here to make you leave," she told him. "I was just supposed to bring Fury's offer, and try to convince you to take it, if at all possible."

"So why're you still here?" he asked, shooting her a wicked look.

"Because I'm wondering where you'd do more good. Here and penniless, making coffin after coffin for only a handful of people, or over in Kallias, making new, _good_ machines that will reach everyone?"

Tony glared at her as she took her departure, disappearing from the doorway and walking back up the hot, dusty road alone. Pepper turned back to look at him, holding herself.

"Tony…"

"I don't want to hear it," he bit out, turning away and resuming work on Razo's coffin. She bit her cheek, and left the workshop.

The next few days were long and hot. Pepper didn't broach the subject of Natasha's offer, knowing that Tony wasn't about to be reasonable. She wasn't sure what to do, if she even _could_ do anything. She had gone traveling with Tony because she had known he shouldn't be alone, because he needed support, because the night he had told her his plan, he had looked dark and desperate and _helpless_. It hadn't been _running away_ when they had left, it had been finding peace from the politics of Timan, and the screaming praise given to the inventor that had won the war for them.

Now, when Pepper thought about it, when she left herself fall quiet and hear Natasha's words whispering through the sand and the wicker coffins and the pale grey clay pots, she wasn't sure what to think.

It hadn't been running away when they left.

The high white clouds turned into something low and sulky, and the farm hands in the area told everyone that the farmers promised rain. Hurried preparations were made to fend off the worst of the incoming storm, and then everyone sat down to wait. The first raindrops came, and then they did not stop.

Pepper and Tony sat in together in their small home, watching the rain wash down the road, carrying sand and rocks with it. The wall Tony had built deflected the worst of the flooding, sending the water on down the road. On occasion lightning shot into the distant dunes, and Pepper imagined the sand flying and fusing together to make glass. Once the storm passed, people would go out to gather as much of it as they could for market.

Rain dripped through the holes in the patchwork ceiling, sliding along the main supports and forming small puddles at the bottom of the walls. A cold wind seeped through the house, forcing them to huddle together with a blanket wrapped around them.

"What do you think I should do?" Tony asked, voice soft in the air. Pepper sucked in a breath, but didn't look at him.

"I mean, I was right to go. Staying there, being called a hero by the politicians and the wealthy, brainwashing the lower classes…I couldn't do it, I couldn't sit there and let them congratulate me for the _blood _I had on my hands."

"I know," Pepper said, finally turning to look at him. He was staring out of the doorway, though, troubled eyes focusing on the surly dark rainclouds in the distance.

"I visited a battle field, to see how well one of the machines worked," he whispered. "I didn't know, I didn't care, I thought it was—I didn't know," he said, sounding tormented. Pepper bit her cheek, never having heard this before.

"That wasn't even the worst of it, though. That was a smaller battle, with blood soaking through to the roots of the trees and making it impossible for them to grow right. I had seen the numbers, I knew _how many—_they weren't people then, Pepper," Tony said, finally looking at her with a ghost's eyes. "They were marks on a parchment. And then they weren't, they were the people we see every day, and I couldn't…

_ "_I _know,_ Tony," she repeated, pressing a hand to his face. "I know, I've been here with you, all the way. You don't have to justify yourself to me." But Pepper had the overwhelming feeling that it wasn't her he was trying to convince. She just wished she knew if it was Natasha, or himself.

"I made monsters that caused thousands of people to be killed because they belonged on the wrong side of a _map._ If I hadn't made those machines, if I hadn't been so _arrogant…_would they still be alive?"

"Maybe not," Pepper said, looking back at the desert. "Maybe the war would still be going, slowly bleeding both countries of all their people."

"I don't want to go back," he confessed. "I don't want to go back to the capital. Kallias is..." Tony trailed off, lips pressing into a hard line.

"It's your choice, Tony," Pepper said. He didn't say anything, just watched the rain with her, and squeezed her hand.


End file.
